


hold my hand and scream

by nezstorm



Series: sharing voices [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Stiles, Gen, Hurt Peter, Powerful Stiles Stilinski, Young Stiles, injured peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 19:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12372291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: The first time they meet the boy shatters Peter’s spine, a feat pretty extraordinary for a six-year-old. Funnily enough, it’s exactly what makes Peter decide to try and help the child out.





	hold my hand and scream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neglectedtuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neglectedtuesday/gifts), [redflowerblooming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redflowerblooming/gifts).



> yes. i'm posting a fic. i don't know why i can't leave this place permanently. yes, i got stressed over it so don't make me regret it.  
> bless Kath and Seth for holding my hand in this.

The first time they meet the boy shatters Peter’s spine, a feat pretty extraordinary for a six-year-old. Funnily enough, it’s exactly what makes Peter decide to try and help the child out. And figure out who and what he is.

 

A helpless, scared, abandoned powerhouse like that could use a helping hand. Peter is never one to carelessly trust, but he’s also the last to let a chance like that slip through his claws.

 

So he lies on the cold, wet ground, after painfully coughing up some blood as he listens to the boy whimper quietly in the middle of the crater the burst of power that sent Peter flying created, and makes plans.

 

It takes close to an hour for Peter to feel like he can lift his body up without it snapping in half, but he doesn’t dare move beyond rising his head to watch the boy carefully make his way towards him.

 

He’s a mess of mud and foliage stuck to him, his clothes singed at the hems. There’s clear tear tracks on his pudgy cheeks and evidence of him wiping his upturned little nose with his sleeve on his face. 

 

The boy doesn’t look any different than any other lost child with his buzzed hair and amber eyes, and dirty fingers. And yet.

 

“Mister? Are you okay?” the boy asks, his voice apprehensive and eyes wide. He flops to his knees on the ground three steps from Peter and  _ looks _ at him.

 

For a flicker of a second he seems almost… unworldly. Peter can’t tell if the flickering amber of the boy’s eyes is his unstable power or a trick of the light.

 

“I’m quite alright. Just a little winded,” Peter answers ignoring the blood drying on his face.

 

The boy sniffles loudly, clearly not trusting Peter’s assessment one bit.

 

Peter braces himself and carefully lifts himself into a sitting position, his right elbow wobbles slightly, but that’s about it. He reaches into his coat pocket for a handkerchief and uses it to wipe his face some, much to the kids horrified amusement.

 

“Do you need a d-doctor?”

 

“I’d prefer some water and clean clothes,” Peter looks the boy over, notes the scrapes on his hands and face, the bloodied knee of his jeans. “I think you would, too.”

 

The boy shakes his head,“Can’t go anywhere yet.”

 

Peter rolls to his feet and moves closer to the kid, crouches down so he isn’t towering over him.

 

“You can’t stay in the forest,” Peter coaxes gently.

 

“Still one more left,” the boys says with vehemence. 

 

“What?”

 

The child sniffles, rubs at his eyes almost angrily as they well up with tears. “The men who killed m-mommy. One more left.”

 

He doesn’t have to spell it out and any other day Peter would laugh at the image of a child enacting revenge on anyone other than another kid who stole his crayons. But. He’s still feeling tender, there’s blood crusted on his face and neck, and the pure rage the boy feels thinking about whoever it was that killed his mother makes the earth beneath them shake.

 

So young and so bloodthirsty already, Peter thinks, raw power that’ll need direction after the revenge that Peter doesn’t doubt the kid will get.

 

“How about we get you some food first?” Peter offers.

 

The boy eyes him with distrust, clever little thing. “Why?”

 

“Because you just spent an awful lot of power throwing me around and I spent a lot of energy healing,” he points out, barreling on when he sees a flash of guilt on the boy’s face, “We both need at least a burger if not a steak. And a bath.”

 

“I hurt you,” the boy says, jutting his chin out pointedly, clearly meaning that he could hurt Peter again. More.

 

Peter shrugs, doesn’t even consider lying. “I startled you. It’s only fair that I make up for it.”

 

The boy looks at him for a long moment, clearly considering if he should trust Peter. He shouldn’t, no matter the fact that Peter has no intention of hurting him, but the kid is clearly tired and hungry, and in desperate need of a bit of a sense of safety. He’s also already stronger than Peter is.

 

He agrees with a nod and when Peter gets to his feet and offers him a hand he takes it hesitating for only a second.

 

“What’s your name?” Peter asks as they round the broken trees in the newly made clearing, still hand in hand.

 

The boy looks up at him, seems to mull over his answer, “Stiles. I’m Stiles.”

 

Peter squeezes his little hand lightly in thanks, “Nice to meet you, Stiles. My name’s Peter.”

**Author's Note:**

> no plans if i wanna write more or stop here.


End file.
